In Difficullty Lies Opportunity
by Cuppa Char
Summary: Harvey had thought Trevor was the only one he had needed to worry about. He was wrong. Harvey doesn't know everything about Mike, but he better start learning. Fast.
1. Chapter 1

**Final fic dump of the night**

**A/N: This the sequel to 'Calls From Crappy Apartments'. That fic is on my ff. net profile page (it doesn't appear to be showing on the normal suits ff. net page)**

Title: Suits: In Difficulty Lies Opportunity  
>Summary: Harvey had thought Trevor was the only one he had needed to worry about. He was wrong. Harvey doesn't know everything about Mike, but he better start learning. Fast.<br>Characters: Mike, Harvey, mentions of Trevor (deceased), OMC  
>Warnings: mention of minor character death, some swearing, mentions of drug use, implied child abuse, non-con in later chapters.<br>Rating: PG  
>I am aware that there has been a Clifford featured in the series. This 'Cliff' is no way associated with Danner. I had the name for this before I even realised someone by that name had been featured and I kind of liked how (I imagined) Mike would say it. All angry and hissing. Just, so you know.<br>Disclaimer: I do not own Suits of these characters. No infringement intended.

_'A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.  
>So is a lot'<br>Albert Einstein_

_'In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.' _  
><strong>Albert Einstein<strong>

Mike settles into the couch with a beer. It's 11:20 and it's the first time in at least three days that he's home before 1am. He's swamped at work – what with both Louis and Harvey riding his ass. Louis more in an attempt to work him till some horrendous fire-able error occurs. He's pretty sure Harvey's is an all together different motive. He's not actually sure of the reason, but he's been acting differently towards Mike ever since Trevor overdosed and died.

It's been three months since that day and Mike still shakes his head, not quite believing that there wont be a phone call any minute asking for help. He'd not heard or seen Jenny in that amount of time either, save for the rather unfortunate, distressing and apparent end of their friendship the day after Trevor's death.

Despite Mike's sunny disposition he didn't really run in big circles – through the very short and abrupt college period it had been very much him, Trevor and pot. After the college period it had been very much him, Trevor and Jenny. And pot.

So now, it was pretty much just him. It was probably the reason why he spent all his available time at work. It was also the probable reason why Harvey didn't question his constant presence and request for more work. At times he'd even ask Mike to his office under the pretence of discussing 'important details' of cases and then let him simply carry on with his work at his couch.

Harvey had at times, tried to ask him questions, to decipher his associate's well-being.

'Are you okay?'

'I'm fine, Harvey.' 

xxx

'How you doing, kid?'

'Fine.'

xxx

It became an endless loop of repetitive and throw away comments that eventually became something in passing until it stopped completely and they settled into their normal interaction full of fake smiles in between their agreed silence.

He was satisfied with work despite the weirdness there. But today – after the shitload of work he'd waded through – did nothing to drive away the need for sleep and after his eyes swam one too many times and he felt his head droop for the third time, he had reluctantly decided to go home. He wasn't sure if sleep would come. His body at work, it seemed, craved the need to just lie down – that moment on the precipice, stuck in limbo, dozy but aware, body thrumming but relaxing too. At home, however, his body had stiffened at the quietness, the chime of the clock startling him and he had swung by the fridge hoping the allure of a ice cool beer would help lull him into some kind of sleep.

It was 11:23, whilst sat on his couch with his beer sweating in his hand, when there was a knock at the door and the satisfied feeling was ripped away completely. He'd opened it without hesitation thinking – or hoping – it could have only been either Jenny or Harvey – with a painted smile.

Said painted smile slides off his face when he saw who was standing there.

His heart speeds up and throat clenches as memories slip in and fluff around him.

"Cliff? What are you doing here?"

He can hardly hear his own voice over the blood rushing through his head.

xxx

When Mike's parents died he didn't go to live with his grandmother straight away. In fact he lived with his uncle Cliff for three months before that even happened.

It wasn't the first time he had lived with Uncle Cliff... in fact his uncle had been living with him and his parent's for the six months prior to Mike's parent's dying. Mike had always liked his uncle – he'd called him 'Fun Uncle Cliff' (not that he had any other uncle's to begin with) – he'd take him to football games, NASCAR racing and one occasion a really gnarly Roller Derby. But around a month before he'd moved in he lost his job and his girlfriend dumped him, affectively loosing a roof over his head. Mike's dad didn't want to see his kid brother homeless and had invited him to stay, much to Mike's delight.

Only two months in Mike soon realised his uncle wasn't that much fun to be with any more. His breath went from occasionally smelling of alcohol to being quite drunk most of the time and although he was affectionate – ruffling his hair and trying to tickle him to death (despite Mike telling him 13 was too old for that but secretly relishing it) – he wasn't that interested in taking Mike to some of the fun places they used to go to.

Dad said his uncle was depressed. Mom wanted him gone. He'd listened from his partly open door. It would go on like that for months until Cliff announced he had some kind of job and spent most of his time out of the house. The arguments between his parent's improved and life moved on. His uncle seemed to be a bit more like 'fun uncle Cliff' and had actually stopped drinking. (It wouldn't be until after his parent's death he would discover what his uncle had replaced it with).

So life stilled and moved on until the first significant change occurred in Mike's life. He had been staying at Trevor's for the night when his parent's were killed – swerving to avoid a drunk driver – spinning out and hitting a high built wall instead.

His uncle came and told him.

He didn't cry.

xxx

He ended up being left in the care of his uncle.

Cliff told him that his Grammy had moved a few short weeks prior to his parent's death and he couldn't find her new contact details. He desperately wanted to see her – to feel her soft embrace and even softer kisses. His uncle appeared even less affectionate now and the drinking had started again.

They stayed at his parent's house for a month until Cliff told him he couldn't afford to. Mike gathered all available photos of his parent's including one – a close up all three of them, faces looming close to the lens – and hid them deep amongst his clothes. They ended up at a pretty shitty two bedroomed flea ridden apartment.

On the first night there, he'd buried himself amongst the bed sheets and pulled his duvet – that he had dragged from his old room – wondering how his grandmother would find them now.

It didn't really occur to him to ask why his uncle wasn't trying to find her.

xxx

It was two weeks later that Mike walked in on his uncle. He had something wrapped around his arm, tied tightly, and was sticking a needle into his arm. He stayed there for a mesmerising second until his uncle screams at him to get out.

xxx

They have been at the apartment for over month now (passing Mike's 14th birthday) when Cliff returns home late. Mike's still up – watching the old TV box set – and jumps as his uncle barrels into the small apartment. He's drunk or high. Maybe both. And he's not alone.

It's the first time he's actually starting to feel scared around him. He's already started to feel uncomfortable.

The uncomfortable feeling settles in quickly when his uncle's friend – Freddy – settles down next to him on the couch and starts murmuring shit that Mike just nods at and makes non-committal noises as he 'hmm's and 'ahh's'. Freddy then brandishes a bottle of vodka and offers it to him with a leer. He looks at Cliff unsure but his uncle just grins and nods reassuringly.

Mike doesn't like the taste and it doesn't take much to feel a bit light headed and giggly.

Somewhere between light headed and giggly and a bloodied face Mike ends up in the bathroom (he thinks he remembers telling Freddy he felt a bit sick). It's not until Freddy leers a bit too close, stinky breath fogging up around him, trying to pull at his clothes that Mike reacts to the situation.

One swift kick to the groin.

Freddy stiffens, cries out, one hand grabbing his abused area while he suddenly tries to grab blindly at him with the other.

"Fuck you!" he spat before Freddy's hand finds it across Mike's mouth, affectively cutting anything else off. So Mike reacts the only way he can think of and bit hard across the palm.

Freddy snaps his hand away quickly, snarling a 'god damn it!' and slaps his open palm across Mike's face. The force sends Mike tumbling hard, face connecting with the edge of the off-white porcelain sink. Blood fills his eye and pain engulfs him.

Sound roars around him and it's not until he crawled on his hands and knees to the bathroom door that he sees Cliff and Freddy grappling in the living room.

"You owe me, Cliff." Freddy shouts. "You fucking owe me."

"Get the fuck out."

By the time Freddy has disappeared, Cliff is back to being genuinely nice and affectionate again. Ruffling hair and whispering 'sorry' over and over.

xxx

Trevor asks Mike how he got his black eye. He tells him he walked into a door.

Trevor obviously doesn't believe him because he suddenly asks way too many questions and his head hurts. They end up having an argument – Mike can't even remember what it was about– but Mike practically calls him a looser and that he had a fucked up family (if he was honest, he was actually jealous).

"Fuck you, Mike."

"No, fuck you."

He watches Trevor storm off with a heavy heart.

xxx

It's over another month when Mike returns home late from school to find his uncle crying – actually crying – in the kitchen and attempting to wrap some bruised ribs. Mike wordlessly goes over and helps to fasten it into place and asks him what was wrong.

"I'm in trouble, Mikey." Cliff says sincerely. "I owe a lot of money. I don't have it."

Mike sits opposite him at the kitchen counter. His uncle looks older now and desperate. He misses the fun days.

"So, what are you going to do?"

He half expects his uncle to declare that they are moving again or at least hopes that he's actually found his Grammy for them to go to.

By the look on his face – grim, shamed, regretful – he knows it's neither.

"Mikey, they know I don't have the money." Cliff responds quietly, head dipping with avoidance. "They only want one thing in exchange."

Mike doesn't ask what that one thing is. He steps away from the counter and takes a few steps to the couch where he sits heavily.

"Please, Mikey." Cliff says from the counter. His voice is pleading. Desperate. Mike cringes within him. "I don't want it like before."

Mike thinks of bloodied faces and bitten palms and stinky breaths.

xxx

Mike doesn't give Cliff an answer – so his uncle takes it as acceptance – and goes about making arrangements. He offers him a pill to help him 'forget' and Mike takes it. Only, when Cliff is out of the way, Mike goes to the bathroom and takes another two.

It seems though that the three tablets, coupled with lack of food – makes Mike very loose limbed and too passive because after a few minutes of some new guy breathing all over him while he's lying half-comatosed on the couch, he's distantly aware of the man rolling away and getting into an argument with Cliff.

"What the hell? The kid's out of it. That's not my shit."

Mike wants to laugh at the irony of it but can't work his vocal chords to do so. He thinks that Cliff might have though.

Some time later, Cliff sinks to the floor and buries his face in his hands, and Mike can hear the self-hatred in his voice. He stays there for the rest of the night, in what Mike thinks is his uncle's way of making sure he doesn't die in his sleep.

Even in sleep Mike knows this problem is not going away. And next time he might not be so lucky.

xxx

It's a week or so later that Mike actually tells someone. That someone is Trevor because at the time he thought he was the safest bet.

He's sitting on a swing in the local play-area, not caring that he thinks he's too old for it – when Trevor drops into the swing next to him. He carries on some lost conversation from a million months ago as though their argument never happened.

"He lets them touch me."

It comes out soft, whispered. Out of the blue.

Trevor immediately stops and turns.

Mike doesn't get a chance to give Trevor any more information. It seems he doesn't have to, because Trevor's suddenly out of the swing and declaring "Fucking bastard."

Mike doesn't move – he wraps his hands around the the metal chain of the swing and feels slow tears fall. He's still there, tears long dried, when a bunch of younger kids turn up murmuring excitedly about some guy who'd been stretchered off in ambulance after having the shit kicked out of him.

It's dark when the kid's disappear and he looses time until suddenly Trevor's mom is there with a soft smile and a welcoming hand. He takes it wordlessly and they go back to the Evans' home. He doesn't say anything to Trevor but he can see the already swollen and bloody knuckles.

Trevor catches him looking at them and shrugs.

"A door walked into me."

xxx

It takes Trevor's mom a solid three days of phone calls and searching until Mike's grandmother is found. She'd been three hours away. Mike's unsure if Cliff knew this.

By the beginning of the fourth day, he was engulfed by the comfort of his grammy that he had missed so much.

And the rest was history.

But with an eidetic memory, not so much...

…. "What are you doing here?"

Voice wary. Confused. Suspicious.

He's not a kid any more. He can deal with this shit. Instead of the stability that knowledge should give him, his breath escapes him -

_Bloodied faces and bitten palms and stinky breath._

Only this time, Trevor's not here to bail him out.

"Hey, Mikey," Cliff drawls. He leans into the door frame with a small smile. "How you doing?"

Mike stiffens, cringes and takes a precautionary step back. Cliff, though, seems to think that it is an invitation and steps further in. Mike plasters himself against the wall of his apartment, not wanting contact.

Cliff looks around his apartment with a sweeping gaze and Mike watches him as he touches inanimate objects with a light brush of fingers. His hand stills over the framed picture of Mike with his parent's and he wants nothing more than to rip it from his fingers.

"Cliff...?" Mike tries, words feeling thick against his tongue.

"I heard about Trevor," Cliff offers, hand still lightly brushing the glass of the frame before turning and facing him. "Just wanted to say that I'm sorry about that."

Mike's first reaction is fear... not because he's in his apartment when he doesn't want him to be and he's lost all ability to function properly – but because of the dawning realisation that his uncle might actually have been tracking him for the last twelve years. That he might know everything about Mike. Stuff that could destroy him. Stuff he feared (and most probably would) could be used against him.

"How... how do you know about that?" he asks tentatively, hating how soft, timid and child-like he sounds.

Cliff stuffs his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans and shrugs.

"A friend of a friend, I guess," he offers him without much of an explanation. "It seems that Trevor and I moved in similar circles."

Mike laughs dryly at this.

"He died nearly three months ago," Mike says, a suspicious tone making it's way in. "Why are you here now?"

He's still standing near the door – not making any attempt to move closer and finding himself trapped between the coffee table and door – needing a possible quick exit if required.

"I only just heard," Cliff says nonchalantly, pulling one hand out his pocket and brushing it through his hair. It causes some to fall across his eyes. "Some guy was talking about his 'go to guy' – a Trevor Evans – not being able to provide his gear any more on the account of him being dead. Don't know about you, but I only knew one Trevor Evans... So I looked into it. I'm sorry, kid."

"No, you're not," Mike says surprising himself with the anger that laced his voice. "You fucking hated him. He put you in hospital."

Cliff grins again then and Mike shivers, pulling his arms across his chest. He moves slightly to the left, leaving a clear pathway between his uncle and the door.

Cliff licks his lips, stuffing his hands back into his pockets and quietly moves around the room again. He lingers far too long, in Mike's opinion, near the doll Harvey had given him. He shivers again, feeling as though Cliff was somehow marking his territory. In doing so he had also skewered Mike's strategically placed pathway.

Anger – a little fear – a little nausea – spike in him.

Cliff chuckles and shakes his head.

"I'm sorry for you, kid. Trevor and I … well, we didn't part on the best of terms, that's true. But he was there for you."

It's surprising what a mix of anger, fear and nausea can bring out in someone because Mike starts to feel bitterness lace his words and before he even realises what's happening, he's talking. A bit too confrontational and lippy, but warranted nonetheless.

"I'm not your kid." He says, biting his lip hard. Tension rolls from his shoulders and ripples down his folded arms.

Cliff seems to realise he's struck a nerve – although really everything he's saying (and his mere presence) is striking a god-damn nerve – and raises his hands trying to placate him, a neutral mask sliding into place.

"Okay, sorry," Cliff says, taking a slow step forward. To him. He flinches and Cliff stops just as quickly. "I'll go, okay. Take it easy... you okay for money?"

Mike's pushing himself back into the wall. The words are kind of muffled around him because he's trying not to fall into full blown panic and he shakes his head to clear it.

"What?" he asks in disbelief.

"Money, you need some?" Cliff repeats, with another glance around him. "Because by the look of this place, you don't have a lot."

"No," Mike says, shaking his head. _(Bloodied faces and bitten palms and stinky breath)._ "I'm good."

Mike uses the opportunity of clarity to straighten against the wall and move further away. Again.

"What about your Grammy?"

Anger and distaste rise in him.

"You mean _your_ mom?" Mike says, disgust lacing through him and coiling around his gut. "She's in a home. She's good."

Cliff shifts his eyes down and for a second Mike wonders if it's shame.

"A home, huh? That must be expensive," Cliff makes a move again. "Let me-"

Mike darts away and grapples with the door, wrenching it open.

"I don't want your god damn money," He practically shouts.

"Mike-" Cliff starts to say with genuine surprise. "I just want to-"

"Well don't!" Mike snaps, feeling his face flush with anger. "What ever it is, don't. I've moved on. I don't need you, your money or what ever it is you want. So just go."

Cliff moves closer to the door. It means that they are too close together, breaths apart. _(Bloodied faces and bitten palms and stinky breath.)_

"Mike-"

"You want to help with Grammy?" Mike says, voice low and challenging. He roughly pushes at Cliff who has no choice but to stumble back into the hall. "Go see her and give it to her instead."

He slams the door with force and whirls away, pacing up and down, breaths rapidly rising and falling with panic. _Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit._

He drops heavily into the couch and buries his face into shaking hands.

xxx

Mike ends up being late for work the next day.

After his uncle had left he had crawled into bed, beer abandoned, and wrapped the bed sheets around him. He didn't really sleep – just tossed and turned, staring at the ceiling – being plagued by waking nightmare. Memories.

So he just laid there, awake, staring at nothing until well past the alarm. By then Mike knew he would be late – but a little part of him simply didn't care. He had forced himself out of bed, into the bathroom, and ignored the striking pale and pinched features.

By the time he was forcing a cup of black coffee down his reluctant throat his phone buzzed against his thigh.

**Coming in today, princess?**

Mike wants nothing more than to reply – no, because life sucks – but ends up pocketing it instead and dragging his bike out of his tainted apartment.

xxx

He gets to work shortly before 9am, which by associate standards is pretty much a no-no and a disciplinary action in the making.

There's a post it note stuck to his computer monitor when he drops his bag off at his cubicle.

_My office, now._ _Harvey_.

Feeling exhausted and well off his game Mike trails slowly to Harvey's office.

"What time do you call this?" Harvey says, scanning through a file.

Mike knows he should apologise profusely and fall to his knees at Harvey's nicely shined shoes, like a well trained puppy, and ask for forgiveness but he doesn't because his head is filled with a shit load of stuff that he doesn't want to be there – _vodka that tastes too strong for a child's mouth, leering faces, stinky breath, grabby hands, bloodied faces... _

Despite the distraction he knows what he shouldn't say – most definitely not with a careless and bored tone – but does it all the same.

"Eight-Fifty..." Mike says with that very same careless and bored tone. "... two..."

Harvey looks up in surprise, "Excuse me? What did you just say?"

Mike rolls his eyes and shrugs, "Sorry, okay?"

Harvey pushes up from his desk with the folder, one further glance at it before slapping it down hard on the desk.

"Look, Mike. I know you've been doing long hours," Harvey tells him, moving around the desk. Mike doesn't miss the way Harvey's eyes move up and down, crinkling at the sides as he takes in Mike's demeanour and appearance. "But that doesn't mean you can stroll in what ever time you fancy."

"I know," Mike says with a pronounced sigh. He's suddenly feeling even more exhausted and spent from his hardly there rebellion. "I should get back to work."

He's half turning away back towards the door when Harvey rounds on him and crowds into his space. His hands raise and push lightly against his chest – in that same way when Trevor was still alive and asking for help - eyes questioning and lips pursed.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing." A chuckle rolls out of him. It's flat and painful and despite Harvey being that close to actually seeing into him Mike doesn't mind their close proximity. He swallows the urge to talk and spill the beans on how messed up Mike's life had been even before Trevor had been on the scene. He pulls away and dodges to the left.

Harvey catches his arm in a firm grip affectively stalling his escape

"Mike?..." It hangs heavy in the air between them.

"Seriously, Harvey... " Mike says, stopping short from saying _'I'm fine'_. He extricates himself from Harvey's hold and takes another daring step towards the door. "I've got a lot of work to catch up on."

He needs to shake himself down and put his game face on. He can't afford to let Harvey in on this. He can't afford Harvey to think any less of him. He, just can't.

"Mike-" Harvey says, rather firmly and Mike instantly stops at the door with his back to him. He hasn't quite got his game face into place yet and thankfully he hears some uncertainty to Harvey's voice. "- … just don't be late again, okay."

Mike swallows again, counts to five, and raises some distant tone of old. "Ey ey Captain. It wont happen again."

Only it does. Several times.

xxx

_tbc_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I was going to put some of this up yesterday, but wanted a tiny bit more of Harvey in it, so it was delayed just so I could wake Harvey up. Wow! 14 pages in one chapter. I can not guarantee I will churn that amount out the next time.

Warning: This chapter features implied non-con and sensitive material.

Standard disclaimers apply. No infringement intended

**In difficulty Lies Opportunity**

**_'In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.' _  
>Albert Einstein<strong>

**Chapter 2**

It's really not his fault the next time he's late.

He's struggling with his bag and his bike.

He has a slice of cold toast hanging from his mouth.

The door is open.

Cliff is lounging in it. He's leant against it as though Mike had never thrown him out.

"What are you doing here?"

Appetite lost, he throws the remainder of his breakfast in the direction of the kitchen – it zips through the air – and lands in the sink.

"Hey," Cliff drawls, eyeing Mike's attire – suit and tie – before eyes land on the helmet in his hand and crinkle in amusement. "Can we talk?"

"No," Mike says quickly. Firmly. He pushes forward with his bike hoping the momentum will propel his uncle back.

Instead Cliff stays where he is, shifting from the door frame to stand upright, and catches the handle bars in a firm grip. Mike looks down at the handle bar, at the hands there, touching his bike, mere inches from his own.

"Mike."

Voice wavering.

Mike closes his eyes tightly.

His chest tightens.

"Mike... please..." voice catching, breaking, desperate and suddenly Mike's thinking about _small hands wrapping broken ribs and bloodied faces and stinky breath. _"I'm in a bit of trouble."

Mike takes a breath and opens his eyes. He takes another second to even the breath out, but when he looks up it's all for nothing – it still escapes him when he sees his dad's face instead of his uncle's. They have the same mouth, the same nose, the same set of eyes. It's not Cliff asking for help now, it's his dad.

"Just hear me out. Five minutes is all I'm asking."

_Just five minutes, Mikey. Hear him out. If you don't like what he has to say, you can walk away._

Against his better judgement he pulls the bike back and steps aside.

"Five minutes," He says as Cliff pushes past and immediately takes the couch.

Mike sets the bike against the wall, closes the door and turns to face Cliff, folding his arms against his chest.

"What type of trouble?"

"The type that money can only fix," Cliff answers. He's fidgeting on the worn couch. Awkwardness is evident. Eyes are cast away from him. There doesn't seem to be the shame or guilt from before, so Mike starts to let himself relax, although anger and distrust still lie heavily in his gut.

"How much do you need?" Mike asks. His voice is bland, emotionless, detached. "I'm not sure how much I..."

"That's not what I'm asking," Cliff answers, eyes darting up (in those seconds it all becomes clear) before flicking away. There's the shame. There's the guilt. The anger and distrust surge up through him.

"Seriously?" Mike asks, voice raising. He unfolds his arms and braces one hand – wrapped bone breaking tight – around one of the bike's handles. He makes no attempt to move closer to the couch. "Seriously? You just thought you'd show up and start where you left things before?"

"Mike, please -" Cliff tries to reason, turning on the seat, hands out in justification. "I'm not in a position to get a job. No one's gonna take someone with a record like mine."

"Whose fault is that?" he spits out at him. The grip tightens, skin scream in distress and bruise against bone.

"I need money fast. I need easy money."

"And your first thought was to track down your dead brother's kid and try and pimp him out? Because you want an easy life?" Mike spits out in disgust.

Cliff rises from the couch, a look of disappointment on his face. "Don't bring your daddy in to this, Mikey. This has nothing to do with him."

Mike releases the anchor of the bike and steps forward, incredulous rage building.

"He's my dad! He's your brother! I'm your nephew!" Mike yells at him. He's not a little kid any more. That little thought is enough to push him into action – he gives his uncle a little shove. Cliff stumbles back. "How is that nothing to do with him?"

"Mikey, stop it," Cliff says quietly – almost reasonably as though it is Mike who is being out of hand – as he catches Mike's raised hand in his own, wrapping them around his wrists. "Sit down and give me the five minutes."

"That was before I knew what you were asking," Mike grits out, struggling against the double hold. Cliff pulls down hard and they both fall to the couch. Once seated Cliff hesitantly releases his wrists. Mike doesn't run though – he'll sit and listen and then have the satisfaction of saying no, of seeing his uncle's face crumple at Mike's decisiveness, at his control over the situation and him.

"I'm giving you a choice, Mikey," Cliff says, voice soft and calm as though he was trying to soothe a spooked horse, trying to manipulate him to leap over ridiculously high jumps and dangerous – unknown depths and murky water – brooks. "You can say no if you want."

"I say no," Mike says, smiling thinly. He tips his chin at him.

"Are you going to work?" Cliff asks him suddenly.

"What does that have to do with it?" Mike asks, worried that Cliff knows about his and Harvey's deal.

"What do you do? Sales?"

Mike could have laughed out loud.

Cliff doesn't have a clue. He was very tempted to smugly tell him what he actually does and who he actually works for. He wants to see the shock on his face, the fear, the realisation that, despite Clifford Ross very nearly destroying his nephew, the boy had done good. But he can't afford to. There were too many consequences, for both he and Harvey, and Cliff could very easily use it to his advantage.

He had, at least, sold a lie.

"Something like that," Mike says. Thin smile still in place.

He could tell the sudden detour into detached calmness was making Cliff nervous, so he smiled a bit more.

"Well, it can't pay much," Cliff tries to reason. "I'll see you good."

"I _am_ good. I don't need money."

"It wont be like before."

A fit of giggles erupts from him and he sees Cliff look at him in confusion.

"That's what you said before," Mike offers in explanation, wiping at his face. When he lowers his hand again, his face is back to calm and detached.

"I meant you're an adult now," Cliff tells him, back to reasonable and justified. "Everything will be on your terms."

"You make it sound like we're negotiating a business deal," Mike says, swallowing the urge down to fall into another fit of giggles.

"In a way we are," Cliff says with a shrug.

"You're trying to sell me for sex," Mike says bluntly. "There's no negotiating in that."

"Mike-"

"I said no," Mike says, feeling some of the anger toying through him. He's bored of calm and detached. He wants the conversation over with. "This is New York City, I'm sure there's a street corner with someone who'd be willing take a lot less than what you're offering. You want easy money. I'm not easy."

Cliff doesn't respond.

They end up staring at each other. Neither break contact. He's unnerved by this – he can see the change in the eyes – the knowledge that it's a loosing battle.

Defeat.

And he doesn't like it one bit.

"Go," Mike says, finally finding his voice. "Your five minutes are up. I don't want you here any more."

It takes another few seconds until Cliff finally nods and raises from the couch.

"Okay," he says, conceding. He pulls a small piece of paper, out of his breast pocket of the leather jacket he's wearing, between his fingers and tips it towards Mike before placing it on the bookcase. "My number, if you change your mind."

Mike knows he wont.

He's left on the couch alone.

Cliff has already made him late for work.

Another hour wont make a difference.

xxx

Instead of going to work straight away he decides to go his grandmother's nursing home.

He has a a sudden, over-whelming, urge to see her, partly because he's terrified Cliff has been to see her. He was never sure how much his Grammy knew about what happened in those few months after his parents died. Neither one spoke about it.

When he finally enters her room though, he realises it wasn't the only reason he wanted to see her.

"Michael?"

The tears come first.

The sobs take a few seconds longer.

He ends up sitting on the chair beside her bed, head buried into her side, as she holds onto him.

"_Shh, it's okay. Whatever it is, hon, it's going to be okay..."_

xxx

The kid's late again.

He's tried calling him several times.

Left a few irate messages and text messages.

To which he had received no replies.

He's starting to get a bit worried. It wasn't unusual for Mike to be late, but he's already over an hour late. Even by Mike's standards, that was pushing it. He just hoped the kid hadn't fallen – or been knocked – off his stupid metal contraption. He's seriously considering making him, if and when he finally turns up, spend the entire day in the the records room or leaving him to the mercy of Louis. It was the least he could do considering how Mike was playing with his hardly-there-very-repressed-and-non-existent-emotions like a fiddle. Besides, worry didn't equate to caring. It just meant that if anything happened to his associate he'd have to go through the arduous actions of re-interviewing all those Harvard drones again.

"Donna-"

"No, Harvey -" Donna interrupts him. "I already told you he hasn't come in yet. I said I'll let you know when he graces us with his presence."

Harvey ends up pacing up down by his window, picking a baseball up and then placing it back down again. He repeats the process several times until Donna's voice interrupts it through his intercom.

"Harvey-"

"Finally-" Harvey starts to say.

"Actually, Mike's still not here," Donna corrects him. Her voice sounds worried and he frowns. " - But I have Mrs Ross, Mike's grandmother, on the phone. She's insisting on talking to you."

"Okay," Harvey says, swallowing the not-quite concern away. Harvey's pretty sure Mike has him down as his main emergency contact – although Mike hasn't actually come out and said so – so he's quietly confidant that he's not dead or injured. "Thanks, Donna."

"Mrs Ross?" He questioned.

He's taken aback by the fierceness to her voice.

"Care to explain why my grandson just spent the last half hour crying in my arms?"

He's still digesting her feral tone but manages to process the words _'Mike' _and _'crying'_.

"Mike's been crying?" Harvey can only ask in befuddled confusion. Harvey knows something was bothering Mike the other day, and despite working all hours, putting up with all the shit the other associates put on him, and dealing with Trevor's death and the resulting end to a friendship, Harvey had never actually seen Mike cry. He was having trouble imagining what the kid actually looked like when he cried.

"I just spent a good half hour trying to get him to calm down," Mrs Ross continues. Her voice is still fierce and angry, but there's an unmistakable distress lacing through it. "He wouldn't tell me what was wrong, he just cried and then stopped as though nothing had happened."

"Mrs Ross," Harvey tries to reassure her, "I swear, this has nothing to do with me. I'd never want to see the kid cry. I'm pretty sure it hasn't got anything to do with work, but I know something has been bothering him."

"Mr Specter-" the older woman interrupts him. "I don't know if you're responsible or not. Mike's always described you as tough but fair. All I know is that my boy was inconsolable and I want to know why. I tried to find out what it was, but he just clammed up on me. I couldn't push him, but you can."

_Push him until it hurts_

"Mike says you're the city's best closer. Fix it."

He's left with a disconnected line and a dialling tone.

Mike had been crying.

He'd been inconsolable.

What the hell was wrong with the kid?

xxx

It takes another another twenty minutes after the call until Mike finally makes an appearance.

"Donna says you wanted to see me?" Mike says off-handily when he enters the office.

Harvey doesn't say anything at first and uses the opportunity to scrutinise his associates appearance. It's clear that the kid has been crying – there's the tell tell signs of red-rimmed and blood shot eyes and his cheeks look flushed.

"Sorry I'm late." Mike says, pacing over to the window. His hands brush against the baseballs lined up but doesn't move them. "Something came up."

"Like going to see your grandmother?"

"I..." Mike starts to say, until it slows off into a drawn out syllable. "What?"

"She called me. Wanted to know why I made you cry," He says, tilting his head as he looked at Mike.

Mike's eyes widen and then he looks away, face flushing with redness.

Seriously, what did he expect after scaring the bejeezus out of his grandmother by crying in her arms.

"It's nothing."

"Cut the the BS, Mike. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Mike says. He looks like he wants to run, fidgeting from one foot to the other.

"It's something when clearly you're unhappy enough to turn up late _late _twice in one week and go running to your grandmother in tears. She wants me to fix it," he says, waving his hand between them. "What ever this is."

"It's those Harvard douches giving me a hard time all the time," Mike suddenly snaps. He looks pissed and annoyed. "It's you giving me a hard time when I don't deserve it. It's Louis who hates me only because he hates you more. It's the end of my friendship. It's Trevor dying."

Harvey doesn't believe a word Mike has just said. Angers fuelling the litany but there's no truth behind the force or his eyes that refuse to look into his own.

"Trevor died over three months ago."

"I get you own me at work but I didn't realise you had a monopoly on my emotions too."

"Mike-"

Mike adjusts his bag over his shoulder. His eyes dart towards him before turning away to look at the window. Harvey swears that there's a look of desperation screaming in his eyes (_'help me, Harvey') _ before being torn away. He can clearly see how tight and wound Mike is at the moment and he wonders how easy it would be to try and push him to the verge of tears. However, Harvey hasn't a clue what is actually behind the kid's misery so he doesn't actually know what to push.

"My grandmother shouldn't have called you. I'm sorry," Mike says. He's still refusing to look back at him. "It doesn't concern you."

It damn well does; especially when he has his associate's grandmother calling him up and demanding answers.

"I just needed an outlet. It's done with now. I'm fine."

_('Are you okay?')_

_('I'm fine, Harvey.')  
><em>

_('How you doing, kid?')_

_('Fine.')_

"I should have called. It wont happen again."

Harvey feels like his head is ringing, that he and Mike are on some endless type of loop that always ends with false platitudes and (apparently) dried tears.

"Do you need anything else?" Mike suddenly asks and Harvey realises he hasn't spoken for at least a few minutes. "Can I go to my desk now?"

He finds himself nodding and waving him away.

He's not satisfied with himself.

_Damn it, Harvey, push until it hurts!_

Harvey is left with a heavy heart as he watches the younger man walk away, knowing full well that nothing was _fine _or _okay, _but he reassures himself that as the city's best closer he wouldn't let sleeping dogs lie – or puppies for that matter.

He might have acted sooner – right there and then – if he had realised a whole lot of trouble can happen when little puppies are out for the count. Because trouble was brewing, whether they wanted to admit it or not.

xxx

Mike had managed to avoid Harvey for most of the remainder of the day. Donna, however, had been on the prowl.

He'd waded through several briefs and had probably spent more time in Louis office then Harvey's. Louis had appeared surprised as hell when Mike had actually asked him if there was more he wanted him to do.

_'Trouble with daddy?' Louis had sneered._

By 6:30 he was done with work. He stopped by the break room to have a last minute coffee to help fuel the bike ride home. Rachel was there at the table, a half eaten sandwich in her hand.

She eyes him and the bag over his shoulder.

"Finished for the day?"

"Yes and before you say anything I do realise it's before the accepted time a associate should be leaving."

"Actually," she says, smirking. "I was going to say you look tired."

"Oh," Mike says, breaking into a small smile as he takes a sip of coffee. "There's that too."

"Something wrong?" she asks, finishing her sandwich and dusting her hands together.

"No. Why?"

Rachel shrugs and studies him from the table.

"You just seem different today. Strung out... and Harvey looks like he's about to bust a blood vessel," she offers. She looks concerned. Already he feels like backing off. "You've hardly spoken to him today. Did you two have a fight or something?"

"Not exactly," Mike answers, feeling confused. "How do you know we haven't spoken much?"

Rachel shrugs again.

_Donna_

No wonder she's on the prowl. Harvey didn't know the truth so that meant Donna didn't. And she hated being out of the loop. It kind of explained why she had spent the entire day looking like she wanted to put him over her knee and spank him.

"I gotta go," he tells Rachel, putting the mug down and making to leave.

Rachel rises from the table and snags his arm as he's stepping away. He flinches at the touch. It's involuntary twitch and Rachel's eyes widen before crinkling into concern.

"What's the deal, Mike?"

Mike turns back towards her and paints a smile across his face. It's tight against his teeth.

"There's no _deal_," Mike tells her. "Sheesh, what's with everyone today. I'm just tired."

He pulls his arm from her hand. The smile, in all it's fake glory, stays firmly in place.

"Seriously, I gotta go."

He walks away from someone willing to listen.

He feels her staring at him as he walks away.

He walks from the break room and back through the associates area.

He feels eyes on him.

_Harvey_

He doesn't know why he can't open his mouth and tell him the truth.

_Filthy, pathetic, naïve and weak (stomached)_

It wouldn't take much, right now, for him to lift his head and catch Harvey's eyes. He knows if he does, Harvey will flick his head for him to follow, and as soon as they are alone together his mouth will open and all his dark little secrets will spill out. He doesn't know why he feels more at risk from this now then this morning but he puts the former down to self-preservation in the wake of tears.

He can't afford to slip up. Can't afford to confirm Harvey's suspicions about the type of associate he has employed.

So he buries his head further and walks a bit quicker and kids himself he's not that little kid any more, that he's a man in control of his actions, and doesn't need anyone else to fight his battles.

xxx

When Mike arrives back at his apartment it's to find Cliff back on the couch.

Mike angrily dumps his bike against the wall.

"What...? How did you get in here?"

Cliff's sitting there casually on the couch. He has a can of beer in his hand – a six pack on the table sits in front of him on the coffee table.

"Your lock is easy to pick," Cliff shrugs.

"Get. Out." Mike angrily huffs and jabs a finger in his uncle's direction. "I said no. Why can't you get that through your thick skull."

"Take it easy, tiger-" Cliff tells him, hands and beer out in defence. "I do get it and I respect it. I'm leaving. I can see despite what happened to you – what _I_ put you though – you're doing good. I had thought that Trevor might have lead you down the wrong path."

Mike stands there looking at him stupidly and Cliff looks at him before chuckling dryly.

"Yeah, I know – coming from me that sounds really stupid, right?"

Mike folds his arms against his chest, mimicking his hold from the earlier conversation, and nods.

"Smart kid," Cliff laughs again. "Despite the situation I put you in back then – and this morning – I am _so so so_ glad you had the balls to stand up to me. You made it so much easier..."

His uncle's voice is slurring slightly, tinged with emotion, and (maybe foolishly) he starts to let his guard down. He can control a drunk. He can throw a drunk out if needed.

"Cliff..."

"You did good, kid. You chose the right path. A different life," Cliff says, raising the can in the air. "Let's drink to that, at least."

"I don't think-"

"Just a drink. A goodbye drink and then I'll be gone."

It sounds easy enough. One drink and then her can pack him off. Move on with his life as though nothing had ever happened. Resume normalcy.

xxx

One drink turned into two which turned into a few more and things started to turn a little bit hazy.

Somewhere between the second and third drink, Cliff had taken the photo of Mike with his parents – the one with their faces pushed up close to the lens – and stroked it thoughtfully before handing it to Mike.

Mike ends up staring at it with tingly lips and numb hands.

"I took that. Do you remember?" he hears Cliff through the haze. The picture's swimming in front of him. He feels his body start to sink and he thinks – hopes – he can fall right into the swirling mass in front on him.

Mike manages a shake of the head because he's having trouble remembering anything right now.

"Yeah you do," a voice murmurs next to him. A hand reaches up and settles around his nape, kneading it gently. Mike shudders because he knows it's not welcome but his body is already sinking, falling into an oblivion, heavy and hanging as a thin blanket of darkness settles over him. "You never forget anything."

He can't make his voice work.

His limbs refuse to cooperate.

Confusion is settling over the blanketed darkness.

All he can do is curl his fingers around the wooden frame in hand.

_Falling but not moving_

Through the blanketed haze, there's a noise somewhere – his slowing brain categorises it as a staccato knock. Three of them. The couch shifts as someone moves – the slight lift and fall makes his suspended body feel as though he will fully tip into the oblivion below until it settles him back in a nauseating wave.

Noises surround him. He can just about make some it through the fog but it doesn't quite fully penetrate his smothered head.

"_Hey."_

"_I know this is isn't what you asked for. He's a bit out of it."_

"_No," _one of the noises says, louder this time. Nearer to him. If he had muscles they would twitch at it. _"This will do nicely."_

"_You got an hour. Don't leave any marks on him."_

He can't move an inch.

He's not even aware he is being moved until he realises the frame of the photo is being taken from his curled fingers. He hasn't a clue what the hell is happening, but he knows he doesn't want to let it go. The little sound of distress he makes goes unanswered.

Although he doesn't know what is happening he knows one thing for definite.

_'You lied. You lied. You lied.'_

… _'You made it so much easier.'_

_xxx_

When Mike opens his eyes it's to complete darkness.

He's lying on the couch.

The digital display of the DVD player tells him it is 23:55.

It's not even the next day.

His mouth feels like cotton balls.

He feels discombobulated.

Nothing feels connected.

He's not entirely sure his arms and legs are even attached.

It's not until he tries to move that he realises everything is still very much there because pain ignites between his thighs and settles in fiery talons into his stomach.

He lets a pained moan out.

Despite the pain he still attempts to move.

It ends up being a complete mess of limbs.

Everything is uncoordinated and disjointed staggering.

He fumbles near the door. There's an envelope with his name on.

He can't get his shaky and trembling and numb fingers to cooperate so ends up ripping it open. There's a small bundle of notes inside. The inside of the envelope has three small words – but Mike sees double – treble – until they contract back into two sentences.

_**'I'm sorry. Cliff.'**_

Mike still can't figure out what happened, even with abused thighs, a torn up rectum and talons within his gut, but he knows he doesn't want to be in his apartment any more.

He grapples with the lock of the door and then staggers down the hallway. He may have even fallen down at least half a flight of stairs. He knows he looks like a staggering drunk, but he manages to flag down a cab and mutter some address. He doesn't even know where he is telling cab driver to go and hopes it's somewhere safe.

xxx

It's 12:30 in the morning when Jenny exits her cab, laughing with ease. She waves goodbye to her friends who are carrying on to their own apartment.

She's still smiling when she steps on to her floor and sees the figure leant against the metal frame of her door.

"Uhh... Mike?" she asks in confusion. It's been months since they have spoken. Their friendship had ended quite abruptly and neither had attempted to speak to the other.

"Oh," Mike says, lifting his hanging head. There's a look of surprise on his face. "Is this where I am?"

His face looks pale, his words slurred, his eyes dilated.

"You're drunk," she tells him, pushing with her foot slightly to indicate she wanted him to move. She was pretty sure if she slid her door open, he would fall right through. "Or high."

Mike shakes his head and then pales further.

"Don't know," he mutters and then folds over more, arms folding tightly around himself.

She pauses and quirks her head at him.

"Wow, you're in a bad way. What did you do, hit the bar as soon as you left work?"

Mike lifts his head and looks at her with pleading and confused eyes. Fear is evident.

"I... I … can't remember," he manages to whisper.

That isn't Mike. Even with alcohol in him, he never drank so much that he couldn't remember the basics. Even drunk, Mike's brain was always firing away, never stopping.

"Why are you here?" she asks quietly.

_Why haven't you called? Why haven't I called you? It's been months. I miss you._

Mike shakes his head, clear confusion making his distress even more apparent.

"I … I don't..." he shakes his head once more. "Somewhere safe?"

Her eyes widen at his words.

Mike is also clearly having trouble forming words. It's more than just slurring. It's almost as though his mouth refuses to open.

She reaches a hesitating hand out towards his shoulder and...

"Where's Trevor?"

That makes her fall to her knees right there and then, hand tightening into the folds of the sleeve of his shirt.

"Mike?"

He doesn't respond and lets his head loll sideways against the door.

"How did you get here?"

A trembling, heavy, hand forces it's way up weakly with a crumpled envelope. He lets it drop between them. A few notes flutter with it and she grabs at them, her finger tracing the words.

"Cab?" Mike manages to half ask, forcing it out between closed lips.

"What happened?" she asks. Her worry makes her voice come out urgently, almost harshly and Mike flinches beside her.

A pained moan floats up between them and another confused shake of the head makes him shift again. He ends up wrapping his arms tighter around his torso. In doing so, he moves his arms up further and her eyes are drawn down to the pants to Mike's suit.

The belt has been cut through. The button is missing too.

_Mike, what the hell happened to you?_

xxx

Harvey is lulled from sleep at the sound of his phone ringing. He's only half awake when he puts it to his ear.

"...lo," he manages croaky.

"_Harvey?"_

He recognises the voice... Jenny something, the girl who had turned up at the offices to have a screaming match with his associate. He's sleep addled brain is trying to figure out how she got his number (a quick look at his display actually tells him the call is from Mike's mobile) and process the panicked garble of words falling from her mouth. He's out of bed in a quick flash when he hears _'Mike' _and _'roofied' _and skidding across the cool floor of his bedroom, phone pressed to his ear, while throwing on a pair of track-suit bottoms that lay at the end of his bed before Jenny even takes a breath.

"I'm on my way," he reassures her.

_Damn it_, he thought, as he took a moment to breathe while sat on the edge of his bed. He'd let sleeping dogs lie and now the puppy was hurt.

xxx

_tbc_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay! RL snuck right up on me. If I didn't reply to feedback/reviews, I apologise profusely. Thank you all for the lovely comments!

This chapter would have been longer (with a completely cruel cliffhanger) but due to an unexpected guest and the fact I feel completely exhausted by all the angst of this particular chapter, it will now be mid-chapter 4.

This is the numb chapter. It really is a complete numb!angst interlude before the shiteth hiteth the faneth in the next chapter. Fireworks (not literally) will occur. But that wont probably be up til next week sometime.

Mike's Rohypnol info from 2 sources:

General info: (erowid. ) (org) (/pharms/) (flunitrazepam/)

Quote (National Drugs Intelligence Center):

(justice.) (gov) (/ndic/) (pubs6/) (6074/) (index.) (htm)

I have basic info about rohypnol, so most info has come from what I have read, therefore errors or inconsistencies may occur.

**Chapter 3**

Jenny had disappeared on him.

Mike's hunched over, hands wrapped tightly around himself. The events of the night are all fogged up around him, coming in drib and drabs and all he can really focus on is the fact that he was at Jenny's and now he was sitting in the ER room. And in a world of pain. He could at least focus on that and understand it.

When Jenny returns, he's rocking slightly, backwards and forwards, with his arms wound around his midriff. He eyes her phone which she exchanges nervously between her hands.

"I called Harvey," she tells him.

It takes him a second to process that she has spoken.

It takes another to process the name.

And then he realises Harvey is coming _here._

He doesn't think he wants Harvey here. He's not entirely sure he knows what is happening but vaguely remembers having some sort of realisation earlier. Things had got more confused and fluffier since then. Since he'd moved and jostled and puked his guts up by the side of the cab.

"I should go," he says although he's forgotten why.

"No," Jenny reminds him quietly. "You should stay."

He has gaping black holes all through him. He should stay. He _needs _to stay.

Everything is so frustrating and he knows at some point Cliff had been at his apartment and then... nothing. Blankness and pain. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and he hunches over with a groan.

Either Mike loses more time or Harvey has travelled at warped speed (Jenny's told him a few times now that she'd called his boss – he kinda forgets each time as confusion and vagueness and the want and _need _to disappear floats up around him) because he's skidding in through the double doors just off to the side of them.

Mike takes one of those precious seconds to process Harvey is in sweats and a t-shirt (remembering the one and only time he'd seen him in remotely similar garb was when he'd turned up at Harvey's condo merrily drunk), only dimly aware that this should be _way way way _down his priority list of most important things to remember, before jumping from his seat.

Darkness rapidly engulfs him as his body feels heavy and hot all of the sudden. He recognises blood pressure when it's about to bottom out and this was definitely it. As the blackness evaporates he manages to see the registration filter across Harvey's face as he spots them. He's there in a couple of magnificent strides and braces his body within his hands.

"Mike," Harvey mutters hotly, eyes roaming his body.

"Harvey," Mike manages to breathe out, surprising relief fluttering out from his heart as he lets Harvey hold up his rapidly disintegrating body. "I hurt."

_I'm in pain_

_I can't remember_

_I can't remember_

_I can't remember_

_Something happened_

_Something bad happened_

_and I can't remember_

"I know, kid," Harvey says. _he knows he knows he knows. _Mike's not sure what he actually knows. g_ood or bad good or bad good or bad. the truth or the imagined truth. denial or realisation. _It occurs to Mike that Harvey is not thinking any of these at all, that's it's all just in his head, the truth lying just under the surface, a cloud that is toying with him, pretending to be penetrating and evaporating but never relenting. Instead it clogs him up from deep within. He wonders if this is what autism, admittedly mild, feels like. Having knowledge, knowing and understanding but unable to communicate and express it. Unable to emotionally link to it.

He hung on to the latter like a reprieve with all the strength he could muster. Something had happened. Something seemingly bad. That much was apparent from the gaping holes, the concern, the way Harvey is practically cradling his face within his hands, trying to look into his sole. He couldn't risk that – couldn't risk Harvey _seeing. _'Cause if Harvey saw, then Mike would have no choice but to as well. So, he averted his eyes instead and focused on emotionally detaching himself from whatever ghastly thing had occurred and dampening down his emotions along with his memory.

"Sit down before you fall down," Harvey tells him and then helps him to lower back down. Mike winces as soon as his butt hits the hard plastic seats, feeling fiery pain spike a little, leaving his gut burning. Harvey keeps his hand firmly rested against Mike's back as he looks over at Jenny who has remained silent in her seat, frowning with worry. "Has he been seen yet?"

Jenny shakes her head.

"How long have you been here?"

"A little over an hour," Jenny replies. She glances at Mike before looking back up at Harvey who's half bent next to Mike. "He seems just as confused. He's been sick a few times. I keep thinking he's going to pass out but he never does."

"Okay," Harvey declares. He lets go of Mike who is awashed with an intense sadness at the loss of contact. He watches with amazement and in awe as he imagines Harvey pulling his most Harveyness with the receptionist. He can't help but smile. He knows he shouldn't. This wasn't a smiling situation but he does it all the same.

Harvey returns with an apologetic look of his own.

"You'll be seen soon, kid," he tells him. Mike just shrugs and grins even more stupidly at him which in return earns him a worried frown.

Jenny wordlessly moves aside to the next available seat and Harvey unquestionably takes the offer and sits between them. He lifts his arm (and any other time Mike would have thought the gesture insane but he has god knows what coursing through his veins and he's detached and in awe of the wondersome of the man beside him) and Mike obediently sags against him, boneless and giving.

xxx

Somewhere between Harvey arriving and seeing a doctor, Jenny decides to leave.

He should be bothered but he's not.

He watches detached and silent as she dabs at her eyes and tells Harvey something.

Harvey nods at whatever she has said. He says something back and touches her shoulder reassuringly.

He should be bothered but he's not because he's surrounded by buffeted detachment and surreality and he's floating through it as eyes lip-read murmured words that don't actually penetrate anything apart from the outer layer of the cloud that is lining his eyes.

He should be bothered.

But he's not.

Right now he's more bothered by the fact that he doesn't feel bothered by it at all.

He's indifferent.

Which, ironically, was quite reassuring.

xxx

By the time he's been seen by the triage nurse he has a vague idea of what might have occurred.

He stares numbly as she takes blood and smiles at him.

There's too many sympathetic smiles being banded about. Some fake and some genuine. He's sure that only one is genuine. He didn't care for the rest. It's all a bit disheartening and nauseating and he wants nothing more to to scream and cry and smash and break something. He doesn't though because his whole body is literally numb and uncoordinated and on some axis that only made sense to itself.

When the doctor finally arrives and asks him to follow him to an examination room, Harvey rises to follow and Mike manages to get his uncoordinated and distorted mouth to ask him to stay. He's heard familiar words being thrown around – _rape exam, rape kit,_- and Mike knows that this will probably involve peeling off bloodied pants (he's only just becoming aware of the dry stickiness that adorns them) and stirrups. There's no dignity in having your legs in stirrups. And it wasn't an image he wanted Harvey to see.

Harvey obviously is reluctant to agree but eventually nods his acceptance and takes up residence in a chair in the hall.

xxx

He needed a couple of stitches.

The doctor suspects he's been raped.

There, he's said it. Like a band-aid

He suspects that he'd been drugged.

That there were traces of Flunitrazepam in his blood.

Scientifically, he understands the words, the meaning, the implications. Realistically, the concept feels absolutely absurd because how can something be true when you have no recollection of it. The detachment is slowly fading and panic is ebbing its way in. He does the only thing he can think of and falls back on old defensive techniques, letting his eidetic brain automatically take over, as though it worked separately from his normal, regular brain. Shut down and turn off and let facts take over.

He focuses on the science of it as though it's nothing more than words.

**Flunitrazepam**_-_

Rohypnol

Rohypnoled

Roofies

Roofied

There's at least 23 other names he can recall.

Chemical name 5-(o-fluorophenyl)-1,3-dihydro-1-methyl-7-nitro-2H-1,4-benzodiazepin-2-one

Classified as a benzodiazepine

Used for sleep

Rapid on-set

Long duration (either he has a fast metabolism or he'd had a smaller amount because the fact he's even walking and talking – if that's what he's calling it – is a miracle)

Seen as a date rape drug

First introduced in 1975 for insomnia

It is now a _'Schedule IV substance under the Controlled Substance Act and in 1997 the U.S. Sentencing commission increased penalties associated with possession, trafficking, and distribution to those of a Schedule I substance.'_

According to statistics rohypnol was responsible for only a small percentage of sexual assaults.

He's unique...

He shudders when even his eidetic memory fails to help distance himself from the cold hard facts.

"Doc," he manages to ask the doctor sitting there with useless leaflets. "Do you mind not mentioning anything to my boss. I don't want him knowing."

"Of course," the doctor replies. "It's important to have a support network though. I hope you reconsider telling him."

Mike nods and accepts the leaflets.

He can't remember what happened.

He told himself that it was good.

So why did he feel so lost?

He throws the leaflet in the trash once the doctor has left.

xxx

"How is he?" Harvey asks when he spots the doctor re-emerging.

"He's going to be fine," the doctor tells him.

"So, did it confirm...?" Harvey asks, hand waving awkwardly in the direction of the examination room Mike was still in.

"Mr Ross needs to pick his prescription up. He's just finishing having some standard blood tests that he will need to a have a follow up on, but apart from that he's physically fine."

_He's physically fine_

"That didn't really answer my question," Harvey points out, trying to keep his voice calm and rational.

"Mr..." the doctor says, looking away briefly to read something on the chart - "Specter, is it?"

"Yes," he says. He knows it sounds a bit too harsh, but he can't help it. It's obvious what has happened.

"You are listed as one of his emergency contacts. His next of kin too."

Harvey is taken aback by this. He hadn't known that. Shit, god-damn, he know feels a whole lot more responsible for the kid.

"Right," Harvey says, trying to mask his surprise.

"But Mike is a consenting adult. And he has capacity. I have to respect patient-doctor confidentiality."

"Even if I am next of kin?"

It's a flimsy excuse. He knows the legal system. He knows he's clutching at straws.

"Yes," the doctor admits and Harvey can see he is not entirely happy with the situation either. "And he instructed me not to tell you a god-damn thing."

Harvey nods at the doctor, only temporarily stung by Mike's reaction, before sliding back onto the seat and burying his face into his hands.

His associate has been raped

Mike has been raped

The kid has been raped.

xxx

When Mike finally does re-appear he looks pale and too fragile. He moves rigidly as though the slight movements were paining him.

"Hey," Harvey says, trying to keep his voice nonchalant.

"Hey," Mike replies. He looks a bit bewildered and Harvey doesn't know if it's from the shock of the truth (and dawning realisation) or the drugs that were still probably lingering in his system.

"You look out of it," Harvey comments. The kid does, although not as much as when Harvey first arrived.

Mike shrugs and sits in a chair beside him.

"I kinda feel out of it," he admits.

He's sounding more coherent too.

"Yeah," Harvey says. "Rohypnol will do that to you."

"The doctor said I should take a few days, that my blood pressure might be low. I could have a few side effects-" Mike strolls to a stop, realising he's distracted enough to reveal _too _much. He coughs to hide his discomfort. "Uh... who said that I-"

"Jenny suspected it," Harvey said, feeling a bit bad for assisting the discomfort. "So, she was right, huh?"

"Don't, Harvey," Mike warned.

"Don't what?"

"Just don't."

"Mike-"

"Harvey, _please_," Mike practically pleaded.

Harvey hated himself for pushing the kid, but he'd always been taught to push until it hurt. He'd spent too long skirting around the issues with Mike, although right now he didn't know how much harder he could try. Mike had been through a horrendous experience and maybe now wasn't the right time to confront him with it, maybe Mike needed someone to give that little bit control back. Harvey had never been good at that.

"I'm fine. You don't need to worry."

He's heard that a million times over the last few months and it stirs some sceptical anger within him. He's too tired, and guilty, to go in guns blazing.

"Oh, god," Harvey mutters tiredly, wiping his face with his hands. "Cut the BS, Mike. You're fine, really? You were just ra-"

"No-" Mike harshly interjects with a shake of the head. "You don't get to say that."

"But it's the truth, Mike," Harvey quietly tells him.

"Is it?" Mike hisses. "Who gets to say that? You weren't there. I – _I –_ don't even _know what _happened. So you don't even get to say that, okay?"

Mike turns accusing eyes on him – red-rimmed and watering, wavering voice – and Harvey realises the kid is close to crying.

"Mike-" Harvey says quietly, lost for words.

"Don't," Mike repeats and turns away to gather himself. He sees the visible shutters come, the audible gulp and the levelled breath. "I'm really off centre right now and my... defences are down, so it's really shitty of you to try and get me to talk right now, Harvey."

"I know," Harvey agrees. "But you don't talk when your defences are up either."

"I'm supposed to have an eidetic memory. Fucking perfect recall. Right now I just have this huge black hole instead," Mike tells him. His hands spread out in front of them in an exasperated gesture. "I need some control. Give me that, at least."

Harvey's not sure if Mike is completely referring to his memory holes or to something entirely different, but he gets where the kid is coming from and he'd be a complete dickhead if he took what little control Mike had left, so he nods at him.

"Okay, for now, okay."

Mike visibly sinks and some tension rolls away from him. He can offer him silence and a safe presence.

"I should go," Mike says and lurches from the seat. He staggers near the door and has to grab the frame for support.

"I'll take you home," Harvey offers, following him and taking his elbow. Mike flinches once but doesn't remove it from his hold. "and then I'll leave you alone."

Mike doesn't respond and Harvey can see him gulp again and tense, "If that's what you want, kid."

"It is," Mike insists quietly.

Mike might be the one with the rohypnol in his system, but Harvey's left feeling confused and with mixed signals. He can't help but feel he's abandoning the kid.

xxx

_tbc_


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: So sorry for the delay. I had been intending to update GUIHTD, but I really had this urge to get this chapter up. And this chapter is the whole reason for this fic, really, - it was really built up (e.g. I had to find a plot) around Mike's freak out at the office (which in turn was actually inspired from an article in the paper about a man who flipped out at the office – throwing computer and chairs and stationary out of the office window). Sadly, Mike doesn't get that far. But he does throw some shit around.

Also – here in the UK when you're off sick you can go a week before you need a sick certificate for work. I have no idea how it works in the US so I just kept it general.

And yes – Donna clearly is a fan of _Dead Poet's Society_. Of course, it's actually a quote from _Walt Whitman, 1865_, and not John Keating (Robin Williams).

**Chapter 4**

Mike spent at least a day back at his apartment, holed up and avoiding the outside world, including at least three missed calls from Harvey. In all that time, which affectively had meant to be spent calming himself down and fooling himself into a false sense of security, all his mind could do was churn over all the possible scenarios that could and most probably did happen.

So, by the second day, he was even more tired and edgier than before.

Harvey being at his door wasn't helping either.

"What are you doing here, Harvey?" Mike asks rather invitingly but steps aside anyway. His body automatically starts to relax with the older man's presence, now knowing it wasn't anyone coming back for a twisted second round.

"You weren't answering your phone," Harvey comments, stepping in and turning in the small vicinity of the couch. "Just checking you were still with me."

Mike rolls his eyes and shut the door after him.

"A bit dramatic isn't it?" he asks, moving past Harvey and returning to the couch and nursing a beer that he had abandoned earlier.

"No," Harvey replies quickly with none of his usual banter. He chose to sit on the small coffee table (that Mike now only had come to realise was pushed further back than usual) and Mike gives him a mildly offensive glare for his mistreatment of his furniture. Harvey ignores the look and kicks his foot gently with an outstretched leg, nodding at the beer in his hand. "A bit early for that, isn't it?"

Mike shrugs and takes another gulp, swilling it around in his mouth before swallowing it in a loud and satisfactory sigh.

"I think it's warranted," Mike says, wiping the mouth with the back of his hand.

"Mike-" Harvey warns, leaning forward. He snags the bottle out his hand and pulls it out of his reach. Mike gives him a disappointed look and debates actually fighting him for it before grinning and waving it away.

"I got more," Mike tells him, lifting his chin.

"And you can drink them later, if that's how you're doing things," Harvey says with a disapproving shake of the head.

Mike huffs a breath out and drops his head on to the back of his couch, vision wonky as it settles on the light fitting above him.

"But I need to know what's happening."

"I thought you knew," Mike says, lifting his head wearily and eyeing him with suspicious eyes. " You were there-" he ends up covering his face with his hand, head dropping back down, in a fit of giggles. "- well, obviously not for all of it. That would just be awkward."

He hears Harvey sigh loudly.

"If I had been then none of this would happened."

Mike lifts his head again, schooling his features, going rapidly cold and numb.

"Harvey-" he starts to say. He knows there's many things he should actually say – like asking Harvey what actually _happened_, he knows he should actually tell him about his uncle's return and everything that had happened before, so someone else can dot the dots and take action and fluff him up in a warm body of armour. And most importantly he knows he should tell Harvey that none of this is his fault. He doesn't, of course, because he's still lingering in desperate and detached anger. Anger at Cliff, anger at whoever or whatever happened to him, anger at himself for not being able to remember. For letting it happen. For failing himself. For failing Harvey. Instead it ends up directed at Harvey instead in a rush of hot air. "Don't start."

"I'm not pushing you to come back," Harvey tells him, ignoring the misdirected anger, face softly calm and reassuring. "But I need to know what's happening now. You can only be off for so long before you'll need a doctor's certificate. I take it you didn't stick around to get anything when you were at the hospital?"

Mike averts his eyes from Harvey's roaming ones and shakes his head.

"I'll need to tell Jessica something."

"I'll be back before I need one," Mike tells him, rubbing his eyes tiredly and wondering if he had anything stronger than beer. It was times like this he wished he hadn't thrown all his stash away.

"You don't have to," Harvey disagrees, leaning forward and staring at him. Mike strangely wasn't unnerved at their close proximity. Harvey had stared at him like this before, like that time when they'd been inches apart after Mike had got high. "You can take as long as you need."

"I said I'll be back before it's needed," he repeats. He wasn't sure if it was more of a challenge to Harvey, anger winning out, then worry that anyone else at the firm would find out.

Harvey sighs loudly again, leaning back and rubbing his face with both his hands.

They fall into an uneasy silence, enough time for Mike to see the tension wind through Harvey, the barely concealed anger reverberating through his limbs and Mike fidgets uncomfortably on the couch, shame engulfing him.

"Harvey, please..." Mike suddenly croaks at him, surprising himself with the sudden emotion flooding through his voice. "I get you can tell me what to do at the office, but this is my place. I just need some space. Give me some time. I'm not bailing. I promise."

Harvey drops his hands and Mike blinks at the sudden determination in his eyes.

"Neither am I," Harvey tells him. He stands, giving Mike's knee a squeeze, and nods. "Come back when you're ready.

Mike's eyes prick at the honesty to Harvey's words and he nods wordlessly at him, allowing him to move past and head back the apartment's door.

"Mike?"

"Huh?" Mike asks dumbly from the couch.

"If you need to call... I'll always answer. You get that?" Harvey asks, back to him, stalling at the door.

For the second time in mere minutes Harvey has astounded him (although he doesn't know why. He's secretly known these things about Harvey for quite some time now) and he finds himself nodding again. It takes him a second longer to realise Harvey still has his back to him, so he ends up croaking "Yeah. I got it."

By the time evening rolls around he ends up getting completely sloshed on vodka and puking up a stuffed crust pizza that he had no recollection of ordering in the first place.

xxx

True to his word, Mike surprisingly turned up for work two days later.

Harvey spent a suspicious amount of time scrutinising Mike – which all but told him that he was either perfectly fine and on fire at work; outdoing all the associates with meeting deadlines, laughing outrageously when Durant, of all people, made a minor mistake at housing court, of all places, and being the general over jubilant puppy he had shown them to be – or in some form of manic melt-down that would inevitably lead to a crash.

The crash never happened though – things seemed to settle and Mike appeared to spend the next day and weekend rebalancing himself until all was fine. There were still times, though, that made Harvey realise the kid was still emotionally recovering. Like that one time when Donna found the kid completely spaced out in the associate break room.

"Harvey," Donna appears in his doorway, arms folded. "What's going on with the kid?"

"Huh?" Harvey asks, looking up in alarm, file dropping to his desk.

"I just found him in the break room," she explains, brow furrowed in worried concern. "The kid was completely away with the faeries. He wasn't responding to me, so I put my hand on his shoulder and he completely freaked out."

"Freaked out?"

"Well... more flinched. Quite violently," Donna clarifies. "And went fifty shades of pale."

Harvey studies Donna for a second before shrugging.

"Beats me."

Harvey trusted Donna completely and he knew that if he disclosed what had happened she'd take the secret to her grave and be a pillar of support to Mike. Only it wasn't his to tell and he wouldn't betray what little faith Mike might have left in him.

"Right," she snorts before striding forward and standing directly in front of his desk. Looking up he can see her face was disbelieving, eyebrow raised. "Don't think I haven't noticed how you've been practically stalking the kid since he's been back and checking up on him. _'Donna, make sure Mike doesn't have too much to do', ' Donna, tell me if anyone comes to see Mike,' 'Donna, tell me when the kid goes for lunch,' 'Donna, make sure the kid eats something',..."_

"Okay, I get it-" Harvey interrupts her (very bad) impression with a wave of his hand. "And I don't sound like that."

"So?" she asks, leaning forward slightly.

"So, nothing," he replies and shoos her away with his file. "The kid had a bad stomach bug and someone needs to check up on him."

Donna looks stricken and thrown by his very loose half truth.

"Seriously?" she asks in obvious delight. "You admit he needs you."

He shakes his head and smirks at her.

"No. He needs someone."

"And you can see that and have taken it upon yourself to be that someone," she coos. "That's even better."

"Right, whatever-" Harvey declares and stands up, waving the folder in the direction of the door. "I got work to do."

She grins and salutes him.

"Oh, and Donna?"

She stops by the door once more and turns.

"Yes, Oh Captain, My Captain?"

"I think the kid wont be leaving till at least 10 tonight," Harvey says, rolling his eyes at her. "Make sure he gets a stuffed crust pizza, will you."

"Already done and dusted," she tells him, heading back to her desk. "I used the same place you got one from last week. Which, I might add, was a strange choice of food to send someone recovering from a stomach bug. Don't you think?"

Harvey chose to ignore the remark.

Instead he thinly smiles at her and slowly closes the door.

xxx

By the middle of the second week of Mike's return things really did seem to settle and, although Harvey wasn't entirely happy with Mike pretending nothing had happened, he was satisfied enough in his reassurance that the kid was able to function professionally.

In fact he was satisfied enough to feel Mike had balanced himself out enough for Harvey to invite him to an important meeting.

"C'mon," Harvey tells him, leaning over the cubicle and pointing at his ratty messenger bag. "Get your stuff. You're coming with me."

Mike eyes his watch, taking in the time, and then back at Harvey.

"You're taking me to lunch?" he asks with a stupid grin.

"I'm taking you to a meeting. Lunch may or not be involved," Harvey smirks back. If truth be told, it was another good way at ensuring the kid was still eating. "And you're making us late. Move your ass."

"Aye, Aye Captain."

The meeting was with PI Banking and their newly allocated spokesperson Daniel Rodgers. They were in the process of merging with another leading bank and had drafted in Pearson and Hardman to oversee it.

If Harvey had any qualms about Mike joining them – they were soon quashed. Mike not only finished of a huge bowl of mouth mouth watering pasta, but he had Rodgers practically eating out of his hand, wowing him with strategies and statistics.

"Where the hell did you find him?" Rodgers directs at him when Mike excuses himself to go to the bathroom.

_He found me_

"Luck of the draw, I guess," Harvey tells him with a shrug.

"He's not like those usual Harvard idiots your firm palms off on us-" Rodgers continues and then smiles sheepishly. "No offence, Harvey."

"None taken," Harvey smiles back, holding his hands up in a mock placating manner.

Rodgers looks down at the impromptu draft of ideas Mike had jotted down for him – brain-storming with clients had never really been one of Harvey's strongest points – before glancing back up and grinning again.

"You've taught him well. You should be proud."

And Harvey was. He hadn't recognised it straight away but there was a warm feeling lining the deepest of his stomach, and it had nothing to do with the wine he just downed.

"I am."

They could both see Mike reappear at the back of the restaurant.

"This ones a keeper," Rodgers informs him, picking his wine glass up and tipping it at Harvey. "Don't let him out your sight."

Harvey curls his fingers around his glass and smiles tightly back.

"I don't intend to."

xxx

While Harvey returned to work and Mike basked in the after glow of a successful meeting – neither realising that the event that had just occurred would have reverberations throughout – Clifford Ross was receiving a telephone call.

"Go for Ross."

"Is this a sick joke?"

"What? Excuse me?" Cliff asks, pulling the phone back and recognising the name on the caller ID. "Philip?"

"Was this an elaborate scheme? You thought you could set me up with a load of legal bullshit?"

"What the hell are you on about?" Cliff breaks in, alarmed at the anger filtering in through the phone.

Cliff really hadn't wanted to drag Mike back into this and Wilds had seemed to be a safe bet. A one off who wanted no strings attached. Now, Cliff was worried and confused at what had transpired since last week. Maybe Mike had recollected something? Maybe, somehow, he'd found a name and approached his client. No, Cliff was sure that couldn't have happened. The kid had been completely out of it.

"Did you know?" Wilds asks, still not clearing the subject up, voice raging in his ear. "Did you know what he does for a living?"

"He's in sales..." he answers rather uncertainly.

"Is that what he said?"

"Yes," Cliff responds quickly and then shakes his head because no, he hadn't – cliff had just presumed and Mike hadn't told him anything different. "Kind of."

"Shit fuck god-damn," Wilds hisses. "You didn't think to check it out?"

"I didn't think I had to," Cliff insists,before it dawns that he _still _doesn't know what has happened. "Why? What happened?"

"What happened? I'll tell you what happened-" Wilds continues, voice actually seething with rage. "My colleague just returned from a lunch meeting with our firms lawyer, who by the way is _Harvey Specter _who happens to be one of the city's best lawyers out there. He happened to bring his associate along because he's and I quote _'some kind prodigy'_. Do you want to guess who the associate was, Ross?"

"Uh... I... had no idea," Cliff answers dumbly, completely befuddled by the fact that Mike's practically a lawyer. That he works for someone so (reportedly) prestigious.

"Yes," Wilds agrees. "From your complete lack of well formed vocabulary, I can see you didn't."

"I really thought he was good to go."

"Well he wasn't and I wants some reassurances."

"Like?"

"Like my money back. Consider it good-will. And to make sure the kid doesn't talk-"

"Wait-" Cliff breaks in trying to reason with him. "He was drugged. He doesn't know anything."

"What part of _prodigy _don't you get? And from what my colleague said, he's got some photographic memory-"

"Eidetic-" he automatically corrects farcically.

"What ever. The point is that even though he was out of it, he might remember specific details and I don't want any of those _details _getting back to me. Okay? I got a wife and kids to protect."

Cliff would have laughed right there down the phone at that but he didn't.

"Okay."

"Fix it, Ross. Before I have to."

xxx

Mike returns back to his apartment after a pretty good day. Things had steadily improved but today he actually started to feel normal for once. Since returning Harvey had continuously been checking up on him and giving him these small encouraging smiles. He wasn't entirely sure if Harvey knew he was giving them and for most of the week they'd been pretty much unwanted by him. But at lunch with Harvey and Rodgers he couldn't but feel a swell of happiness when he caught sight of Harvey grinning at him halfway through some exuberant explanation of Harvey's tactics, chipping in with some ideas of his own from his very brief reading of the file in the drive over.

The good feeling lasted all day and Harvey had even clapped him on the back (which Mike was pleasantly surprised when he didn't flinch) and told him to go. Mike didn't need telling twice – after the afterglow of the meeting, he was starting to flag.

The good day didn't last though.

Because as soon as he steps in through his front door he caught sight of a flash of movement in his right peripheral before being struck hard against the side of his face.

"What the fu..." he only manages to get out before a whole body slams into his side and whips him around, slamming the side of his face into the now closed door.

"Fuck," Mike spits through blood. "Get off me."

"You didn't think I would find out?"

Mike instantly recognises the voice.

_Cliff_

He increases his struggle against the hold only to find one arm twisted behind his back painfully, the other trapped between him and the door.

"Are you fucking stupid?"

Mike stills his movements and pants through the pain and fear. He can't remember Cliff ever being this physical with him before.

"What... what?" Mike pants.

"Don't play stupid, Mike," Cliff hisses in his ear and roughly shakes him. "Sales, huh?"

Mike's breath stills along with his body.

"What do you know?" he whispers.

"I had an interesting conversation with my contact today. Lawyer? Really?"

Cliff is practically leaning his entire weight on to Mike, pushing further into the wooden frame, breathing into his ear.

"Associate, actually," Mike corrects croakily, suddenly overwhelmed by the fear that he might have spent his lunch with the man responsible for this nightmare.

"Lawyer. Associate. It really doesn't matter, does it? You still work for Harvey Specter, right?"

Cliff jostles him when he doesn't respond straight away and so Mike nods at him shakily.

"How... did... your client...?" Mike says, fumbling over his words, terrified he might have been so close to him.

"His colleague was gushing all about you to him after your meeting. As soon as he mentioned your name alarm bells started ringing." Cliff tells him, completely not getting any of Mike's concern. " He thinks you're going to pull some legal bullshit on him. Are you?"

"How could I?" Mike asks, disbelieving, wondering what Cliff wanted out of him and more worriedly, how he was going to resolve the situation. He twists and turns slightly, trying to see Cliff's face. "I didn't exactly know any of this was going to happen."

He's unexpectedly spun again, leaving his head reeling, until he's directly in front of his uncle.

"You're going to do what I tell you," Cliff tells him, bracing his entire body with both his hands.

Mike shakes his head and makes an attempt to reach out behind him, fumbling with the handle.

"Damn it, Mike" Cliff shouts angrily, slapping him hard across the face. He's grabbed much tighter this time and dragged forwards before being thrown down, with force, on to his couch.

It's absurd really, but he's still reeling from the slap, and because he knows it's absurd he starts to laugh.

"Don't you get it?" his uncle paces in front of him, running a hand through his hair repeatedly. "He wants me to make sure you don't talk, Mike. That means one of two things. Money or-"

"Making someone disappear?" Mike asks quietly. He can feel himself curling in on himself but his tone remains challenging.

"Exactly."

"Have you? Killed someone before, I mean?"

"Mike-"

"He seriously asked you to kill his nephew?"

"He doesn't know you're my nephew, you dipshit-" Cliff spits out and then strides forward to him. Mike flinches when he grabs his face between his hands. "Which is why I'm doing you a favor."

He snorts and tries to pull back but Cliff tightens his grip, pinching at the skin and locking their gazes on each other.

"You don't need Harvey Specter or that fucking firm. You're playing at dress up, Mikey. You need to do what you're good at. And we're blood. We'll look after each other."

Mike snorts again but stops short when Cliff squeezes even tighter, fingers wrapping with force around his chin, preventing him from saying anything even if he wanted to.

"Right, Mike?"

Mike felt himself nodding.

"Good boy," Cliff tells him, releasing the pressure.

Mike's hand immediately goes to his chin and rubs. The only other person to say those words had been Harvey. And it had felt good, full of praise and warmth and genuine affection. Now they were tainted which only filled him with anger.

"Now go pack," Cliff is telling him with his back to him. "You're coming with me."

"No," Mike quietly says. He's not sure if his uncle has heard him or not – he body stills with his back facing him, so he repeats it again. A little bit louder. A little bit more determined. "I said no."

Cliff turns around slowly and faces him with a look he hasn't seen since he pulled that guy off him that one time in the bathroom. He doesn't back down, doesn't bolt, just stays there on the couch, straightens his shoulders and gives the older man a steely look of his own.

"I haven't said anything. I wont say anything."

"You don't get to make that choice," Cliff tells him, striding forward again and jabbing him in the chest. Mike doesn't flinch this time.

"I do. I choose to stay," Mike tells him firmly, looking directly into his face.

"You mean you choose Specter."

"Maybe," Mike concedes with a shrug. "I don't know. Maybe I don't need anyone."

Cliff steps away and chortles loudly.

"Look at you kid," he says, still laughing loudly. He gestures to him with his hand. "You've always needed someone. Your parents, your grammy, _'Trevor'_' he must have found this even funnier because he indicates it with airy air quotes. "Even me. And I'm guessing this Harvey guy, too."

Mike smiles tightly at him and shakes his head.

"You might be blood, but you're not family," Mike spits out at him, watching him dance around in front of him. "I want you to leave now."

"And I want you to pack," Cliff informs him, voice becoming louder. "NOW!"

"Okay," Mike says grinning and raising his hands up in the air. He stands up and makes an attempt to pass. "If you wont leave, I will."

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Cliff challenges hotly at him and then suddenly they were a tangle of limbs (Mike was sure he managed to get in a fast uppercut that would have had Harvey proud) which brought both of them down hard.

Mike, unfortunately, lands first with Cliff coming down hard on top him.

He tries to shake him off. Tries to drag his already sore body out from underneath the heavier form of his uncle. He succeeds only half-way until Cliff catches him by the belt of his pants and yanks him backwards before piling on top of him and pushing his face back down into the carpet.

"You're going to do what I tell you to do," Cliff tells him for the second time that evening and Mike freezes, breaths trapped between his chest and the floor, terrified that Cliff was going to actually do what he had always been on the sidelines for. "Got it?"

Mike nods into the carpet and Cliff pats his shoulder in a satisfied manner.

Clearly he thinks the threat of bolting has passed because Mike suddenly feels the pressure alleviate. In that split second Mike makes the quickest decision he's ever made – in fact her can't even remember making it, his body jackknifing in a fight and flight response – and brings the back of his head up so fast that Cliff has no time to react at all. His head connects hard with something, Mike only slightly aware of a faint crunching sound, before the remaining weight disappears completely.

Mike scrambles away, hands grabbing at the door handle to pull him up before flinging it open and bolting through it (forgetting his messenger bag which had been torn from his shoulder or his bike which would only add time trying to manoeuvre it down the stairs), leaving Cliff rolling around the floor with a bloody nose.

xxx

Mike ends up at Jenny's again. Only this time it was a conscious decision and for more practical reasons other than it being the only address he could remember – he'd left both his phone and wallet in his bag – and Jenny's was in at least walking distance. He was also not entirely sure he wanted to drag Harvey back into his troubles again. When Mike had accidently stumbled into those interviews Harvey had been expecting an associate, not someone with a walking soap opera life.

"Mike?" Jenny gasps at him, hand automatically reaching for his face. "God, what happened to your eye?"

Mike manages a flinch and a shrug before becoming a shaking mess on Jenny's couch.

He refuses to tell her anything and just ends up begging her for a place to stay.

Reluctantly she agrees, throwing him worried frowns and clutching her phone like a life-line.

She catches sight of him wearily looking at it in her hands and sheepishly put it down. It's sometime later that Jenny inches forward slowly, moving across the the couch like she she expects him to bolt any second. He wont – he's too exhausted to move and besides, Jenny's safe.

When she's close enough he finds her wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. She hesitates for a second before deciding to wrap herself around him and the blanket. He flinches – just the once – before relaxing under her presence.

After the umpteenth time of silence and clearly when Jenny's at breaking point, he hears her soft voice floating up to him.

"Why did you come here?"

"I thought that was obvious," Mike says, voice strangely scratchy.

"Apart from the obvious," Jenny says, prodding him gently.

Mike shrugs.

"Why didn't you go to Harvey's?"

"Too far," Mike says. It appears shock and exhaustion makes Mike an honest boy.

"Do you want to call him now?"

Mike shakes his head shyly, hiding his head further into the blanket.

"I don't want Harvey being dragged into this."

They fall into another silence until Jenny speaks up again.

"I'm not the one you need."

"I... don't... I don't need Harvey," Mike says for the second time that day. "Why do people keep saying that?"

"I don't know," Jenny shrugs against him. "Maybe because you need someone like him."

Mike starts to resist, agitatedly moving under the blanket until Jenny's hand finds his and squeezes.

"I don't know what Harvey is to you, Mike," she reassures him quietly. "But it's something."

xxx

The morning finds Harvey outside the firm, leaning against a wall, two coffee's in hand and scanning the crowds of people walking backwards and forwards in front of the building. Mike's bike was still missing from it's usual spot and the kid was already an hour late.

After the last few days, especially yesterday, Harvey had thought things were settling down. But now worry tugs at him. The last time Mike was this late it had been the start of the nightmare that followed. The kid was also not answering his phone.

"Harvey?" a voice said startling him out of his thoughts.

"Jessica," he greets at the woman standing in front of him. She looks at him with a quizzical frown.

"Is there any reason your standing out here with two coffees instead of getting ready for our meeting later this morning?"

"Uh. No. Just enjoying the scenery," Harvey tells her with a shrug.

Jessica smirks at him and folds her arms.

"Is this anything associate related?"

"What...?" Harvey starts startled.

"Please, Harvey-" Jessica admonishes him with a tut. "I do have eyes. Something's bothering you. And from the way you've been acting around Mr Ross lately I presume it's related to him. I also presume your standing out here, with a second coffee, waiting for him."

"No," Harvey shakes his head vigorously and clutches both coffees a little bit possessively. "They're both for me."

Jessica eyes him sceptically.

"Donna said something, didn't she?" Harvey asks with a sigh.

"Only that something was bothering you regarding Mr Ross," Jessica says with a shrug. "I have to say Harvey. I'm kind of impressed – looking out for the welfare of someone who's not actually paying you to do so."

"Jessica-" Harvey starts to warn.

"He's late," she observes dryly.

"Can't argue there," he comments. _Way to to go, kid._ Now even the boss is noticing.

"Can I offer you some advice?" Jessica asks, tilting her head to the side.

Harvey smirks at her and shrugs. "You're going to give it to me anyway, right."

She grins at him and unfolds her arm, resting a hand across his chest.

"Find the right balance between being boss, mentor and friend."

"Right," Harvey chuckles, scanning the crowd once more. "That really helps."

Jessica offers another grin and picks at some imaginary lint to his lapel before reaching for his hand and snagging one of the coffee's from it.

"Hey," Harvey objects half-heartedly.

"Give the kid yours," she tells him, blowing at the heat and looking over the rim at him.

She goes on to talk about some of the details of the planned meeting but he's only half-listening, distracted when a yellow taxi pulls up and Mike suddenly appears, jumping out of the swinging door in a rush. Clearly he's still wearing the same suit from the day before and by the way it sits on him – rumpled and creased – he must have slept in it. He's also sporting an impressive black eye and split lip.

He's already half way across the open stretch of pathway when a blonde head pops out of the open door and calls him back. Harvey can see it's Jenny, holding Mike's tie, and Mike stops and immediately turns back obediently with a pained smile. Harvey watches while she gently loops it around the younger man's neck and secures it into place. She whispers something into his ear which Mike nods at before hurriedly walking off. He seems so preoccupied and lost in thought he doesn't see Harvey or Jessica openly staring.

"What the hell is going on with your associate, Harvey?" he hears Jessica murmur next to him.

"That's what I intend to find out."

xxx

By the time Harvey has made it in, Donna's already in his office looking none too pleased.

"Have you seen his face?" she demands of him as soon as he steps inside. "Stomach bug my ass."

"Okay, okay-" Harvey sighs tiredly, not wanting to fight. "I'll tell you everything, but I need to speak to the kid first."

Donna huffs a breath out at him.

"You don't think I'd have him waiting in the office for you if I could?"

Harvey eyes his assistant questionably.

"Louis," she goes on to continue. "Is giving him the speech of always looking professional and how he's not allowed near any clients until he looks half acceptable."

Harvey groans and drops into his chair heavily.

Donna looks at him impatiently.

"Let Louis give him the speech. Call me as soon as he's back at his desk."

Donna doesn't look too pleased but accepts it anyway.

Unfortunately, for all involved, Donna wasn't at her desk and Harvey was halfway through a phone call with Rodgers when the associate finally reaches his desk so they kind of missed the volatile confrontation that happens to occur at Mike's desk.

xxx

Mike's been at his desk for all of two minutes when the mail man slaps some letters down on his desk. He jumps slightly at the intrusion and takes a second to process that the delivery man's hands look different. For as long as Mike has been at Pearson and Hardman the mail man's hands had always been well manicured and slender fingers. They've never been this. Bitten down nails with nicotine stains.

Mike glances up and is so startled at Cliff's face looming above him he actually shrieks. Just a little.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he hisses quietly, pushing his his chair back slightly. To his alarm he sees that some of the associates have noticed his girly gasp and are looking on intriguingly. His eyes dart away slightly and focus on the PH ID badge on Cliff's breast pocket. For reasons unknown to Mike - the mail room staff had never been issued with the usual identification, just small plastic sheets of paper with a passport photo inserted in between – and straight away Mike's eyes adjust and see that one corner of the flimsy plastic is puckered. "How... how did you get that?"

"This?" Cliff asks, seeing Mike staring at the ID. He taps at it before pulling it from the pocket before tapping it on the cubicle wall between them. "It seems that Trevor wasn't that trustworthy either. Kind of makes me wonder why he had one of these in the first place."

Mike gulps. He's reeling from the fact that Trevor might have been planning to use that thing all along and now his uncle, his freaking sleazy, backstabbing one at that, is here in the middle of Pearson and Hardman. Mike doesn't understand his actions. This is way too public for either of their liking but one look at Cliff's eyes told him everything. Desperation.

Clifford smiles and flings the ID badge down at him. It bounces off his chest.

Mike looks around nervously and flinches when Cliff winds his hand tightly around his elbow.

"You need to go," Mike tries to tell him quietly. "You're making a scene."

"I don't care," Cliff says just as quietly and Mike finds himself starting to shake. Any form of reasoning or negotiating seemed out of the window. "You don't get to walk away. Not from me. Did you think you could?"

Mike shakes his head.

_Shit_

He really feels like he's about to cry right now. And on top of that he can feel even more eyes on them - the weird mail man who was manhandling him.

"I told you to get your shit together," Cliff says, eerily calm and quiet. He releases his hold of Mike's arm and Mike just blinks at him, barely registering that he has his messenger bag in his hand. Cliff throws it at him and Mike catches it on auto-pilot. "So get your shit together. We're leaving now."

Maybe it's fear that paralyses him, or rebellion, or the simple fact he might be sick of hearing Cliff order him about, but he ends up rooted to the seat.

"I said – get your shit together," Cliff insists, eyes flashing in anger. "You don't want a scene. So don't make one."

Mike shakes his head and dumps the bag back on his desk.

"I'm not going with you."

"Move you ass!" Cliff snaps at him, anger now completely evident. When Mike refuses to move cliff suddenly grabs hold of him and drags him off the cubicle seat, pushing him forward. If all of the associates we're not watching them, they definitely were now, especially when the seat tips and clangs loudly to the floor.

"Fuck you," Mike yells, throwing caution to the wind and trying to scramble out of the painful hold. "Get your fucking hands off me."

Cliff appears to have nothing to lose now and continues drag Mike around the edge of the cubicle, finding it easier than dragging him over the wall. And something inside of Mike snaps (because he's had to put up with this shit, both the actions and memories, for most of his teen and adult life, and now he here is again, dumping it right in the middle of where he works, where he's supposed to be smart and intelligent and professional and most importantly: Harvey Specter's freaking associate) and he stops fighting at his uncle's persistent hold and lets out another strangled shriek. He swipes at the contents of his desk as he's pulled, hand connecting hard with his computer's keyboard, dragging it from his desk and seeing it smash to the ground.

There's startled gasps all round but Cliff doesn't stop until Mike settles his hands on the monitor too.

It's at this moment that he's tackled from behind. He goes one way, the monitor goes the other. There's the sound plastic and metal and glass crunching near-by. Mike tries to scramble away because there's a hot body and several hands pulling at him and he manages to stagger a few feet before being face planted again, someone piling on top of him.

And someone's screaming loudly all around him.

It takes him a second longer to realise it might be him.

xxx

Harvey's nearing the end of his conversation with Rodgers when he hears a commotion come from somewhere outside of his office. A second later there's the unmistakeable sound of Mike's voice swearing and then shrieking. Harvey startles in alarm.

Donna, who had been on the phone at the time, jumps too and looks around her.

She leaps from her seat and rushes towards his office.

"Harvey-" she starts.

"Sorry, Daniel. I've got to go," Harvey cuts off the man on the other end of the phone. He drops it harshly, not entirely sure if it disconnected and barrels past Donna who quickly follows him.

He stops short at the associate area and the scene in front of him. Mike's being tackled to the ground by two of the other associates – Greg and Kyle – causing the computer monitor he barely had a grasp on to fall and shatter behind the cubicle wall.

Donna gasps out her shock and clasps her hand tightly into his arm, nails digging in.

Harvey's eyes focus in on the mail man – seemingly looking like an innocent bystander – and instantly sees a familiarity in him and knows that both he and Mike are somehow related. Same eyes, same nose, same mouth.

He'd have to deal with that later though. Because at this moment in time both Kyle and Greg are pinning Mike to the floor and the kid is struggling against them with all he's got. It's then that he starts with a keening wail that has Harvey skidding across the room.

"Get off him," Harvey mutters. When they don't comply he turns and glares at them. "I said get off him."

"Let him go."

He turns to see both Jessica and Louis, as well as several other partners, have joined them.

Both associates let go and Mike jackknifes up and Harvey has no choice but to capture him by the shoulders and push him back down. He didn't want to hold the kid down, not after everything that has happened, but he didn't want the kid hurting himself or doing anything stupid.

"What the hell happened?" he hears Louis mutter behind him. "I'm calling security. Do we need to get him certified?"

"Shut up Louis," Harvey snaps at him before turning his attention back to Mike. "Calm down, Mike. It's me. It's Harvey. Stop fighting me." Mike instantly stills beneath his hand, the keening moan cut off in his throat, eyes shut. The only evidence that he was even alive after the abrupt change was the rapid panting coming from the younger man.

"Hey, it's okay kid," Harvey murmurs down to him, slowly letting go of one of his shoulders and placing it across the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "You're safe."

He can hear a ripple of excited voices around them, shifting his back body slightly in a pathetic attempt at shielding Mike from an unwanted audience, and picks out the mail man from the assorted murmuring.

"I was just trying to drop his mail off."

"You threw your ID at him," someone speaks up in an accusatory tone. "You tried to drag him out of his cubicle."

Harvey turns an angry and suspicious glare at the man who backs up slightly alarmed.

"He had Mike's bag with him. I'd recognise it anywhere," the blonde – Harold – speaks up, before retrieving the ID from the floor of Mike's cubicle. "The ID says 'Trevor Evans'."

Harvey tears his eyes from the stranger to Harold.

"Let me see that."

Harold passes it to him while Harvey keeps one hand on Mike's chest. Sure enough the ID – most probably faked twice over – has Trevor's name and the man's, who stood before him, face.

"That's not Trevor," Harvey declares, mostly for Louis and Jessica's benefit. He sees the security men appear from the doorway. "Louis, you better keep this scum-bag away before I do anything stupid. And Try and get a name."

He can see Jessica squeeze Louis arm and nod at him.

"Are you sure he's not certifiable?"

"Just go, Louis," Jessica informs him.

"Harvey?" Mike asks underneath his hand.

"Mike?" Harvey asks him. Mike blinks at him with watering eyes and raises a shaky hand to his rapidly filling eyes. Clearly the kid was about to start on the waterworks. "Hey, kid. It's okay."

Mike shakes his head and chokes on a half sob. It ends up swallowed in a gulp of air.

Harvey really needs to move him up to his office. He flashes Mike a reassuring smile, squeezing his shoulder, before seeking out Donna. She's surprisingly closer than he expected and as soon as he settles his eyes on her she nods at him, pale face flaring angrily. "Okay. Move it now before I start stapling parts of anatomies to your desks.

Harvey turns his attention back to Jessica. He's never really seen her look that concerned before. Not since when she found him fucking his own life up.

"Let me deal with this?"

She nods at him once, eyes drawn to Mike's free hand which had found it's way to Harvey's, fingers wound around his wrist and squeezing with painful tightness.

Huh. He hadn't even noticed

xxx

_tbc_


End file.
